Waiting in the line

To pay a month-late bill, yesterday I went to a bank near where I live. There was a long line of people waiting to get to the teller inside and in front of the ATM machines outside. Waiting was not a problem for me though, because I had nothing to do better than doing a little people watching.

Five minutes after I entered the bank and I settled for a good spot to wait for my turn and observe people. One lady started to complain about the bank's queue system according to which you get a number depending on what kind of a customer you are. If you are a frequent customer and have an ATM card of that bank you get a different number than a customer who is, like me, just there to pay a bill. So, that lady, who claimed that she had an ATM card, complained that she waited too long.

Well, I was not agree with her point at that moment. After forty-five extremely boring minutes later, I was as angry as she was and ready to snap at the tellers. Another customer began to protest. Some others joined her. I was so ready to join them and rebel against the bank's manager. However, gradually those angry customers' turn came up and naturally they left the bank leaving other rebells alone and defenseless.

During that long wait, finishing its first hour, I managed to find a seat at last. The man sitting next to me was trying to sneak a peek to my queue number in my sweaty palms. I sensed what he was doing and tried to hide my number as if it were revealing some kind of intimate info about me; like my laziness and not being successful at getting the best number there was. When his turn came, he rushed to the desk. Then I felt a soft touch on my hands. Getting ready to get rid off the bug or fly or whatever was on my hand, I looked at my hand and there I saw a piece of queue paper resting on there with a smaller number than my queue number printed on it. Then I found the man looking at me knowingly and gave ma a slight nod and smiled at me from where he stood.

I smiled back. I thought that there must have been a secret underground resistant group formed discreetly and operates silently against the rude deeds of this bank. Now I was part of that group and my initiation to that group had just taken place. Since I had also several queue numbers at my disposal, I was enthusiastically looking for another candidate. While I was searching the room, my number appeared on the screen. I walked to the booth, finished my job and walked off the bank. Everything happened that fast regardless of that endless waiting period.

I was not a member of that underground organization anymore, I was dismissed instantly.

--------

By the way, I finally gave up reading Nick Hornby's How To Be Good book after 50 or so pages later. I am rereading Paul Auster's Hand To Mouth. I am in a bit of difficulty exploring new writers who write like Auster. I know the fact that Nick Hornby is absolutely a fantastic writer, no doubt about that; I can't claim it otherwise after seeing High Fidelity. However, How To Be Good is not my cup of tea. I once found Philip Roth's Everyman after doing a search on Amazon, simply by clicking on Explore Similar Items link when I was checking The Brooklyn Follies, another Auster book.

So, can anyone recommend a writer?